Working Overtime Sucks
by 1silentmouse
Summary: Working overtime on a Monday night had to be the worst experience Alfred had ever had since starting this job. It sucked. Big time. Until a woman shows up next to the elevators and Alfred decides that he needs to speak to her, because nothing, absolutely nothing would be able to stop the burning sensation building up on Alfred's chest but the sound of her voice.


Working overtime on a Monday night had to be the worst experience Alfred had ever had since starting this job. It sucked. Big time. And there was no logic about getting all this work done on a freaking Monday night since they had the rest of the entire week to do it. There was no logic in it.

"This sucks." Alfred stated, matter of fact.

"If you worked as much as you complained you would have finished hours ago." Arthur grumpily replied typing up data and stats information into the computer and into the companies' data base.

"This is lame. Tell me one reason why we had to do this tonight? One good reason?" Alfred whined, desperate to finally be released from this messed up modern torture. He was just about willing to do anything to finally get out of there but work. Work sucked and his boss was a creepy Russian communist so there was no reason Alfred would do all this work in a dignified manner.

"The fact that it has to be done is reason enough now shut up and type you bloody Yankee." Arthur snapped back, furiously typing and actually doing his job.

"You suck old man." Alfred mumbled back in defeat. Yet he didn't start typing. It was late, dark and they were the only people in this floor, besides their creepy workaholic boss, and they were probably only people in the entire building. If Alfred waited enough he was convinced Arthur would simply give up and let him go even if he had not done a third of his work load.

But Alfred had a tendency to be bored quickly so sitting quietly staring at his computer was an almost impossible task at the moment. And complaining and whining wouldn't do because Arthur Kirkland was a grumpy old man that had no tolerance or sympathy for Alfred's energetic nature and he had been shot down after every attempt of conversation so far. So Alfred was bored and desperate to do anything else but work but had nothing actually there to distract him. His stupid computer even had its internet blocked after he had been caught messing around with it instead of working.

"I don't hear you typing." Arthur mocked sang in sadistic pleasure to Alfred's despair. And even if Alfred really wanted nothing more than to flip the table over yelling his displeasure and his resignation in triumph, he needed the money for rent and they couldn't force him to stay here all night. Right?

Alfred picked up one of the data sheets he was supposed to type out and resigned himself to misery. "I swear to… Holy sweet Jesus!" Alfred exclaimed in utter awe because there was a woman standing next to the elevators.

But it wasn't any women, no. That was a class A sweet smoking hot babe. That woman was gorgeous. Gorgeous with a capita G. Hell Alfred would go out and say that she was the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his entire life.

Arthur, wondering what the hell had stopped his younger co-worker mid whining turned away from his work to look. "What the bloody… Oh."

"Do you see what I see?" Alfred asked still gawking at the perfection standing next to the elevators.

Arthur grumbled and turned back to face his work. "If you are referring to that slimy French frog then yes. She is most definitely here."

Alfred turned to face Arthur in disbelief. "How can you talk about her like that?" Frog was the last thing to cross his mind seeing that perfection. Goddess being the first thing to actually jump to mind. "She's perfect!"

"She is a French frog and you will do yourself a favour by not talking to her." Arthur stated as he kept on typing on his computer.

Alfred looked up to the beautiful French model that was just standing there. Her blue dress hugging her body into an hour glass shape, enhancing the cleavage of her breasts, the size of her slim waist and giving her hips almost sinful qualities. Long luscious legs ending in white high heels emerging from the fashionable cocktail dress. Her long dark hair bundled up in a loose fashion with a white tiara, leaving locks of it falling gracefully to frame her face. And those red full lips that felt so inviting. She was looking around the office, seeming quite a bit bored herself. And then her sapphire eyes met Alfred's and she smiled, the most beautiful smile Alfred had ever been graced upon himself, and she waved at him.

"I'm talking to her." Alfred stated matter of fact, because nothing, absolutely nothing would be able to stop the burning sensation building up on Alfred's chest but the sound of her voice.

"You will regret it." Arthur said, but Alfred couldn't hear him and was already walking quickly in anticipation to hear that angel's voice.

Alfred straightened his shirt, one hand attempted to sort out his hair, he puffed up his chest and with all the confidence he managed to gather, he greeted her. "Hi."

Sapphire eyes were then locked on him and Alfred was a nerve wreck under a confident mask. "_Bonsoir._" She smiled back.

Alfred's knees went weak. Never had he heard something sounding so lustful. He had to hear more. "I'm Alfred F. Jones. What's your name?"

"Francine Bonnefoy. _Enchanté_." She sang for him. Because it surely didn't sound like talking when she spoke. Alfred was developing a new love for the French language hearing her.

"A pleasure meeting you mam." Alfred reached out for her soft, unbelievably soft, really they felt like silk, hand and in the cheesiest way possible he kissed it like in all those old romantic movies he used to watch with his mother when he was younger. And when she giggled at his gesture he made a note to bless his mother and call her to thank her for forcing him to watch all those corny movies because Francine's laugh was like the shimmering of wedding bells.

"Such a charming young man." She sang. "Tell me, what is such a darling think such as yourself doing here so late at night?"

Alfred, feeling a lot more confident now, decided to step up his game. He leaned into his arm against the wall, making his bicep pop up and his muscles show off under his work shirt. "Oh, just doing some overtime, you know." Alfred felt that working out in the gym had definitively been worth all the pain and because she was checking him out. He was never going to complain about the gym again. Hell he would stick to his diet plan for the rest of his life after this night. "My unreasonable boss decided that we had to fill out all our data tonight even though we have the entire week to do it."

"Oh _pauvre chose_." Francoise exclaimed with a dramatic wave of her hand to her chest, leading Alfred's eyes to stare right into her cleavage, and then stretching her hand to cares Alfred's face. "What sort of cruel man would have forced such a darling _petit chaton_ like you to do such unreasonable thing?"

Alfred had never learned French, and didn't actually know anything beyond English, but he just melted with the sound of her voice speaking it and didn't much care what she had called him. And her hand felt so warm and soft that he leaned more into it out of instinct. It just felt so damn good.

Someone coughed, and Alfred jumped out of his trance turning to face his boss, Ivan Braginski, starring down at him with a very displeased look. "Jones, what are you doing?"

"Oh, boss, hi." Alfred panicked. "Yeah, look I know I was supposed to be working and all but…" Shit he was supposed to be working. He had to come up with some sort of excuse now. He turned to look at Francine and inspiration struck. "But you see I promised my girlfriend here that I'd take her to dinner tonight so I'll make it up tomorrow ok." And Alfred felt like a genius because now he had managed to avoid work and would be able to take Francine out on a date all in the same night.

His boss however frowned. "Your girlfriend?"

Alfred cheerily grabbed a very surprised Francine's hand once again and introduced them. "Yeah, this is my girl Francine, Francine this is my boss."

Ivan Braginski's frown and displeasure grew ten times more. "Jones." He said, threatened actually, in a hiss. "Kindly remove your hands from my wife before I lose my patience."

Alfred froze. Wife? Did his boss just say he was married? Hell did he just say he was married to Francine? "Your wife?"

"Yes Jones, my wife. The women you are still holding hands with." He explained with an even deeper frown.

Alfred released his hand from Francine's and stared at her in disbelief. That beautiful women was married to his creepy boss? It made absolutely no sense to Alfred.

"This, Francine, is why I always ask you to wait for me at the reception." Ivan sighed defeated as his wife wrapped her arm around his and kissed his cheek.

"If you were on time then I wouldn't have to come up here looking for you _mon nounours_." She sang pinching his cheek and pressing a quick peck on his lips. "Now if we don't want to miss our dinner date we need to go now."

Ivan sighed once again. "Fine. Give me a moment." And He turned to face the stunned Alfred that had yet to move from his spot, and had been watching them in wonder up until now. "Jones, my office first thing in the morning tomorrow. Now go back to work." He ordered. And then walked into the elevator with his wife. Francine waived at him as the elevator's door closed.

Alfred, shocked and broke hearted, marched back to his computer and slumped into his chair. Arthur, who had watched the entire thing from beginning to end, sighed at patted Alfred's back.

"I told you so." He simply stated. And Alfred stared at him bearing all the looks of a broken hearted man.

"You knew?" He asked, his voice breaking into misery.

And Arthur sighed. "Come on. I'll buy you a drink tonight." And he dragged Alfred up and dragged him out of the office. They could finish work later, after all, Arthur remembers very well how he needed a drink to heal his broken heart the first time he had meet the recently wed Francine Bonnefoy Braginski.


End file.
